


happy ever afters

by aces



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Fairy Tales
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-03
Updated: 2011-02-03
Packaged: 2017-10-15 08:54:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/159166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aces/pseuds/aces
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I want a happy ending," he insisted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	happy ever afters

When he was very young, he wanted peace.

He had studied his histories, and he had noticed the contention and strife and anger that developed between his friends, between family members, and he had noticed the political wranglings and manipulations of the adults.

Sometimes, it had made him want to scream. Sometimes, it had made him want to kick the wall. Sometimes it had made him want to speak very, very softly to his friends, to the adults, so very softly his voice shook.

Sometimes, he ran away, to someplace quiet, where he could whisper to himself, “I want a happy ending.”

That became his goal. Somewhere in the Universe, somebody would die with her goals fulfilled, content with the life she had led. Somewhere in the Universe, two people would fall in love, and any argument they had would be resolved within the week. Somewhere in the Universe, somebody would not have to die for his beliefs because he could live for them instead.

“I want a happy ending,” he insisted.

He left when he could, travelled to find a happy ending, or to see if he couldn’t make one himself. He fell into adventures, he fell into traps, he fell into misery and frustration and anger. He went back, and nothing was better, so he went away, bringing his granddaughter with him in the hopes that somewhere out there he could at least find her a happy ending. He was discouraged, and bitter, and ready to give up.

He fell into friendships, and his granddaughter fell into love. And he was back to adventures, and traps, and deaths, his own deaths. Misery and frustration and anger, too, but he was determined.

He wanted a happy ending.

And he found friends who were searching for happy endings too, or at least searching for something, something they couldn’t find at home. And he kept moving forward and backward and sideways, and he kept fighting and not-fighting, because violent death was never a happy ending, and sometimes he thought he came close to seeing a happy ending, sometimes, but it was never quite happy enough.

And sometimes he wondered if he was aiming too high, if he had impossible expectations, but then he told himself he’d always had impossible expectations and usually he got what he wanted, so why should this be different? And he kept looking.

And eventually he began to worry that even if he did find a happy ending, it wouldn’t be enough anymore, he wouldn’t be satisfied after all these adventures, after all this moving forward and backward and sideways, after fighting and finding ways not to fight and yet still win. And sometimes he worried that he was still chasing after a childishly idealistic dream that he, being older and wiser now, should know better than to think he could find.

But then, he had a favourite saying about grown-ups and childishness.

And sometimes he came close to losing his hope, and sometimes he came close to despair, and sometimes he wanted to give it all up again, give in, admit defeat, there were no happy endings for anyone; the only endings were in death, and there at least you might find a bit of peace, depending on your beliefs.

But no. “I want a happy ending,” he still told himself.

Through manipulation and amnesia, through bodies of youth and old age, through personalities dominated by irritation and arrogance and exuberance and clownishness, he searched for happy endings.

And eventually a friend, a companion, someone who travelled with him, one day metaphorically slapped him upside the head and said, “You daft idiot, happy endings are no good; they are death. You want a happy middle, and you know very well you’ve got one.”

And he blinked and scratched his head and went away to think for a while about what she had said and realized she was right. He wouldn’t have been happy doing anything other than what he did.

“You’re much smarter than I am,” he told her, and she answered patiently, “I know, Doctor.”

And from then on he lived what he hoped was a happy middle.


End file.
